Droplets
by PaiigeCourtneyy
Summary: Warning: Rated M for dealing with aspects of self-harm, no other reason. Because even speedsters have to have some form of emotional outlet, and it's just a shame that Wally's has become so self-destructive. Established Wally/Dick. One-shot; complete.


**Droplets**

Warning: Rated M for dealing with aspects of self-harm, no other reason.

Because even speedsters have to have some form of emotional outlet, and it's just a shame that Wally's has become so self-destructive. Established Wally/Dick.

* * *

The morning's mission had been a close call. They almost all didn't make it out alive, and it certainly wasn't without injury.

The bomb had been set to detonate after five minutes, with the classic timer and everything.

Except it was a ruse; as it turned out, the thugs had hidden a remote detonator underneath the floor tiles, and when Superboy accidently stepped on it –

Well, Wally was just glad he had super speed.

Robin was just a _little _too close to the bomb for comfort.

Artemis had been thrown backwards by the blasts, her ankle smashing against the heavy machinery, snapping in two. She'd also landed awkwardly on the tip of one of her arrows that she had been about to ready, causing it to impale through the top of her arm. No archery for her for a while, then.

M'gann had been virtually unaffected, having turned intangible before the bomb went off, receiving only a few minor burns that weren't much of a problem, despite her status as a Martian.

Aqualad's thick Atlantean skin had protected him from the worst, but he did have to keep rehydrating in order to stay conscious.

Bombs couldn't scratch a Kryptonian's skin; let alone kill them. Superboy was fine.

When they had reached Mount Justice, wounds had been treated and the Bat had scolded them before listening to Kaldur's detailed report and then dismissing them.

Wally was the first to leave.

He ran back to his flat in Central City, straight to the bathroom. He splashed cold water over his face, rubbing his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, he whirled around to the sink, reaching below the cabinet for his razor.

Not-so-trembling fingers (he'd done this a thousand times before – there was no reason to be afraid) unclasped the handle from the blade, letting the plastic clatter onto the side of the sink.

Closing his eyes, he exhaled long and slow as he dragged the edge along his skin, letting it pierce the thin layers. He stopped and opened his eyes, watching as the blood ran warm down the length of his arm to his elbow where it fell to the floor.

His eyes moved back up to the cut, where he observed, in fascination, the skin stretching and re-growing and healing itself.

Truly fascinating.

He raised the blade again, focusing on doing another cut virtually parallel to the invisible scar.

He had done this so many times, after so many stressful missions, that it was easy now. Easy for him to forget everything, to tune everything out, and make the world just about him, if just for these few precious moments.

He didn't hear the rambling engine of a not entirely legal bike, the running footsteps as they dashed through the hallway, up the 6 flights of stairs and stopped before his front door.

He didn't hear the almost inaudible click of his lock being expertly picked.

Didn't hear the footsteps drawing even closer to the bathroom, and then said bathroom door opening.

None the wiser, Wally dragged the razor up his arm, sighing.

He did, however, hear the bathroom door slam shut with so much force that the hinges rattled and splintered the wood around them.

Wally's eyes flew open and his fingers went numb as he stared at the face of Richard Grayson.

Richard didn't say anything. He didn't even look shocked. He had probably figured it out, considering he _was_ the son of the world's greatest detective, after all.

Still not making a noise, he calmly walked over to where Wally was stood. The ginger's mouth was open, his eyes wide, swimming with unshed tears and regret and guilt and _shame._

Dick pried the fingers from around the corner of the blade, gingerly taking it from his boyfriend's grasp. He placed it on the counter next to the sink, ignoring the blood dripping onto the floor, all the while not breaking eye contact with the speedster.

Turning away, he stood on his tiptoes to reach for the medical kit behind the mirror.

As silent as the wind, he got out the cotton balls and dipped some disinfectant on to them. Bringing Wally's bleeding arm up, he gently pressed the ball down, concealing his flinch when he heard Wally hiss.

He didn't want him to be in pain.

After all the wounds were cleaned up, he got out the long bandage tape and wrapped it around each slice, securing them with the adhesive side and a loving kiss.

It was pointless, he knew. The wound was already practically healed. But that didn't stop him from caring.

"Dick, I-" Wally was silenced by a cold finger over his lips. Dick shook his head; he didn't want to hear anything. When he was sure Wally wouldn't say anything else, Dick removed his hand from his mouth and instead wrapped it around the back of Wally's neck, bringing him down into a crushing hug.

After a moment of shock, Wally responded, wrapping his arms around Dick's waist.

Together, the two shakily sunk to their knees on the bathroom floor, holding each other close.

It started off slow at first.

Wally didn't even know they were trailing down his cheeks, onto Richard's back, before finally falling in little droplets onto the tiled floor.

But it soon sped up.

His breathe came in short, shuddering breaths that rocked his whole body, heaved his chest and rattled his ribcage.

He was babbling too, his motor mouth running its usual speed as he whispered repeats of "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." And "Please, please forgive me."

His hands clutched at Dick's sides, straining the clothes on his back, shaking, gripping tightly, wanting to never let go.

Dick's hands came up to grasp Wally's hair, his nails dragging slowly across the skin on his neck where the roots collected.

"Come on, shh." He stroked his boyfriend lovingly, caressing his neck. Dick could feel his own throat closing up, his chest tightening. He _hated _this. Hated not knowing what do, hated not having caught on sooner, and hated, absolutely hated, the way Wally must be feeling.

"I'm sorry, I'm so, _so_ sorry…" Wally was still blubbering.

Dick tried to pull back, to look him in the eye, but Wally wouldn't allow it.

He wouldn't let go; not if that may be the last time they ever embrace.

"Wally… Wally, look at me. _Please." _His voice was a beg, pleading for Wally to do so.

He did, eventually. He was still crying, but not as intense. His shoulder's still shook and his face was twisted in a pained grimace.

"Oh Wally," He whispered softly, using his thumb to wipe away the tears streaking down the other's cheeks. "Why didn't you ever _say _anything?"

Wally opened his mouth to speak, to answer, to tell him that he _couldn't_ say anything, in case Dick thought he was weak, that he couldn't handle being a superhero because the stress was just _too much _and sometimes, just sometimes, he needed a release, an outlet that relieved him of that stress, that brought his too-fast moving world to a standstill, that allowed to feel raw pain _if just for a moment _before his god-damn connection to the speed force sped up his healing and healed all the scars so that there was so no evidence and of course that only made him do it _even more _because there was no proof that he had ever done it.

To say that he tried, he really fucking tried, to tell Dick about it and get some help, _even going so far as seeking professionals, _but he couldn't, he just couldn't because Richard meant more to him than anything in the world, more than being Kid Flash, more than the team, more than working with Uncle Barry, and more than life itself and he just _couldn't_ tell Dick because what if, _what if_ it was too much for Dick to handle so he left, left Wally all alone, and then Wally would never get to see those piercing blue eyes ever again or go on missions with him or laugh with him or make love to him— all because he was too cowardly to ask for help, because he was too ashamed of what he'd done to his stupid, idiotic metahuman body and if Dick left he would never, ever be able to stop, be able to cope and-

"Stop, Wally; stop. You don't need to say anymore."

He didn't even know he had been saying anything.

Dick took a deep breath, closing his eyes to help calm down. He wasn't angry. He was disappointed - in himself.

"Come on," He rubbed the back of Wally's shoulder. "I know this isn't easy, but you have to pull through this, understand? You have to stop. I'm not angry, and you don't need to keep apologising. I understand the stress of the job, and I'm not angry, okay? I don't blame you. I really don't blame you. But you have to stop. It isn't healthy."

Wally was shaking his head, his breath going in and out frantically. His voice was pained, cracking. "But that's the _problem_, Dick. _I can't stop."_

Dick pressed their foreheads together, holding Wally close by the back of his neck. Blue eyes stared straight into green as he said: "You _can._ And you will. We'll get through this. Together. I promise, all right?" The tears continued to streak Wally's face, building momentum as he could only stare back.

"You're not… you're not going to leave me?" His voice questioned. It sounded so quiet and fragile that it literally broke Dick's heart in two. His hands came round so that both of them rested on Wally's cheeks, his fingers sprawled.

"No. Never."

It was a huge relief for Wally to hear those words. Dick was his, all his, and he was never letting him go.

Ever.

His mouth breaking out into a short grin as the reassured breath escaped his lungs he surged forward, capturing his boyfriend's lips with his own.

It was a battle for dominance at the start; one the younger, raven haired boy didn't wish to lose but knew he would as the red head began exploring his mouth with his tongue, biting down lightly on his bottom lip.

Arms embraced around each other and lips still locked, they sank lower and lower until Dick's back hit the cold floor.

All around them the droplets of red and the droplets of clear pooled in the tile cracks and travelled down the seams, criss-crossing and overlapping, running together, mixing into an intimate shade of pink.

The lover's colour.

* * *

**Urm. Okay so, I really hope this hasn't affected/caused triggers for anyone because it really was not my intention to do so, as I know just how serious the issue of self-harm can be. I tried to capture that here, and I hope I managed to do so in the right way.**

**Thank you for reading this one-shot.**


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